She Will Come For Me
by Angelus1
Summary: He needs something to hold on to, to believe in.


Title: She Will Come For Me  
  
Author: Angelus  
  
E-mail: angelus1317@hotmail.com (Please put "She Will Come For Me" on the subject line.)  
  
Subject: Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
Category: A  
  
Rating: G  
  
Summary: He needs something to hold on to, to believe in.  
  
Spoilers: None, really - just the fact that Spike's chained up in the cave.  
  
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.  
  
Disclaimer: Buffy and Spike, regretfully, will not be returning to the show next season. That it because I have kidnapped them and they now live in my closet where they sit and give me inspiration for my fics. Oh, and Spike helps with....other things. My humble apologies to Joss Whedon, WGN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended, only my personal pleasure.  
  
Author's notes: Ordered the Ghost of the Robot CD the other day, was pretty much assured that I'd get the special GOTR guitar pick, and found out that they will be playing just a few hours away from my city in May. Ah! Jamie! Anyway, in a psychotically hyperactive state I finished this. Just a warning, this may be the beginning of a fairly large series of short POV's and ficlets from me.  
  
Dedication: To the few friends I have left that let me be who I am: Nikki, Elizabeth, Katie, and Laura. Thank you so much. I love you all.  
  
~*~  
  
I've been in this damn cave for three bloody weeks. Chained to a rock, stripped, beaten, starved, and tortured - a taste of my own medicine, I guess. I've been around for so long that it takes quite alot to kill me, but I have to admit that even I'm getting a bit nervous. Me, the master vampire. Although, the fact that it's taken a foe as powerful as the First to take me down...kinda gives the old ego a bit of a boost. Hell, not even the Slayer could take me out; not even five of them could.  
  
The Slayer...God, Buffy. I sit here and she's all I can think about. The smell of her hair; the swell of her hips; the way she laughs; her tiny little feet pitter-pattering their way across the floor of my crypt late at night; her equally tiny hands running up, down, and over my entire body; the way she shuts her eyes really tight and grabs my shoulders when she's about to come; her full lips and her plump breasts and her soft thighs....But most of all, the way she can look at me like I'm not a monster, but a man.  
  
When I'm with her, I remember what sunshine feels like. Granted, it will never be as hot as her touch, or as bright as her smile, or as blinding as her beauty, but I remember. And, I think, if I have her, maybe not seeing or feeling the sun isn't that big of a deal.  
  
But then again, I don't have her. Not really. Not like I want to have her, not like I've had her before. And although I dream and wish and hope and fantasize about it, I know I'll never have her back. Not completely. Because she's the Slayer and I'm a vampire, yadda yadda yadda.  
  
It's a tired tune, but I suppose one of us ought to be singing it, because in my heart I know she's right. We're unnatural, illogical, impossible; a stolen moment. We don't work in real time.  
  
I could lie and say that I realized this after I got my soul, but what would be the point? The truth is, it was That Night, the night I tried to rape Buffy. That's when I knew. Before I even stepped foot in the house, I knew.  
  
When I saw her, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, examining her wound, something inside of me just snapped. Not sure how or what, but it led me to trying to convince both her and myself that we belong together. I just lost control. I wish with everything I have that I could go back and change that night, but at times I can't help thinking that perhaps it was for the best. After all, it got me this shiny new soul of mine, didn't it?  
  
The First has been prancing in and out of here in Buffy's petite yet powerful little body, constantly reminding me of all of this. She, he, it, whatever, gets right up in my face and taunts and laughs at me. Tells me how pathetic I am for falling in love with the Slayer instead of killing her. How we can never have any sort of future together. How pathetic I am again for having a soul; not being cursed with one, but getting it on my own free will.  
  
If she would keep repeating these things over and over again, I think I would be okay. It's painful, having to hear her say it even once, but I've accepted all these things already. It's when she leans in, her soft lips grazing my ear, her sweet, hot breath caressing my cheek, and whispers teasingly that she - Buffy - won't come for me, that it has the desired effect. Then and only then am I unable to prevent them from seeing the overflow of emotions that I've been so carefully trying to hide.  
  
No matter what happens, if I can just have Buffy, it will be allright. We have some sort of special something, her and I. Maybe we would never work out as lovers, but as friends...I have to tell myself that, at least. Yes, we have this uncanny way of understanding each other, which is ironic in that we're supposed to be mortal enemies, but I doubt we'll ever be as comfortable around one another as we used to be.  
  
Maybe she'll never confide in me again. Maybe she'll never spend the night in my arms. Okay, no, that's pretty much a given. But that's my fault. Yep, I've screwed up again. Why should I be surprised?  
  
But underneath it all, I have to keep believing that she still cares. Because that's all I have left.  
  
So for now I just dangle here, with one hope left: that she will come for me. That she will free me from this prison, that we will walk out of here arm in arm, that I will go back to being a part of her life.   
  
She will come for me.  
  
Or I may as well be left here to die, those four words still on my lips.  
  
She will come for me.  
  
I hope... 


End file.
